Riddles and Puzzles
by imp01
Summary: A few riddles lead to a lot of trouble for the guys. WARNING: There's a bit of Mark whumping in this one as well as creepy crawly snakes and spiders. So if you don't like either of these, please don't read it.


Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, nor do I profit from the story, etc. This is a work of fan fiction.

Ratings and Warnings: PG-13 There's a bit of Mark whumping in this one. So if you don't like Mark whumping or nasty creepy crawly things such as snakes or spiders, please don't read the story.

Authors Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Susan Zodin, who spent many late night hours reviewing, tweaking, and trying to answer riddles. Her contributions helped me craft an idea into a real story. She even brought along an ice cream sundae. Answers to the riddles can be found at the end of the story.

**Riddles and Puzzles**

**M. Wood**

**Prologue**

Milton C. Hardcastle watched over the still form of his young friend, Mark McCormick, lying in the hospital bed. The last month had been rough for both of them, and it still wasn't over. The kid looked like hell; his face pale but marked with dark smudges under the eyes and fever splotched cheeks, bruises over large portions of his body, his right forearm wrapped in a bandage, and hands and wrists wrapped in soft gauze. An IV in the left arm completed the sad picture.

The kid had been in the hospital for two days and still there was no response, just an occasional twitch or whimper of fear. A light was always on in the room, casting a soft glow on the young man's face. Frank and Claudia Harper came by several times each day, giving Hardcastle a break but never leaving Mark alone. Father Atias came each night, offering prayers of healing and peace to the young man. Three friends kept a silent vigil, praying for the return of the vibrant young man, who now looked like a prisoner of war: gaunt, vulnerable, ghostly, and abused.

In his dreams, McCormick felt like he was lost in the desert with no water, just the endless heat, hot and excruciating. But instead of being sunny desert, it was dark, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. It was not a place he wanted to be, but still he was not able to walk far enough to find someplace cool or light. The pain would come and go; at least it was not constant like the heat. He lay back in the heat and waited, hoping someone would find him soon.

Occasionally, he would feel warm hands, caring and gentle, touching his face, holding his hand. Strange. There was no one with him in the darkness of the cave or the crate, but yet here, wherever here was, a warm touch made him feel secure. Gentle voices matched the tender touches. He felt sheltered hearing the voices, reassured that he wasn't alone; that he was cherished.

**One month earlier**

"I don't _believe_ it!" roared Judge Hardcastle, sitting at his desk as he read the mail. "How could they _release_ this guy? He should have gotten life!"

"What are you hollerin' about?" asked McCormick as he came into the den with a tray filled with sandwiches, chips, and drinks. "_Who_ shoulda gotten life?"

"Frankie Grishom, a.k.a. the Riddler," responded Hardcastle, eyeing the platter of sandwiches.

"The Riddler, as in Batman and Robin's Riddler?"

"Yeah, only this guy's real. He worked the East Coast before coming west. A real piece of work--a creative hit man." Hardcastle grabbed a ham sandwich and took a bite. "Sent him to prison in 1970 for attempted murder. At that point, I knew he was bad but there was nothing other than the current charges pending. He pretended to be a model prisoner and was paroled in December 1982, despite my objections."

"So, what's the problem? It's now July 1984 and we haven't heard from him."

"Oh, but we _have_, kiddo. Listen to this," said Hardcastle holding the letter in one hand and a puzzle piece in the other.

_"Judge Hardcastle,_

It's been awhile, but I hope you are still as sharp as ever for my little game. I have a riddle for the newest dynamic duo to solve. Solve the riddle and you'll know what you need to purchase for this game.

Frankie Grishom" 

Hardcastle looked at a piece taken from a children's puzzle, turned it over, and saw a handwritten riddle on the back which read, "_The man who made it doesn't want it. The man who bought it doesn't need it. The man who needs it doesn't care. What is it?_"

"You can't be _serious_! A real-life riddler and us the newest dynamic duo." Mark briefly thought of the old TV show and a picture of Hardcastle wearing tights came to mind. He tried not to laugh. "This is unreal."

"Yeah. I gotta call Frank," Hardcastle said calmly but seriously as he picked up the phone.

"So, what's the answer?" asked McCormick's jovial voice, still not taking the puzzle piece as a serious threat.

"A coffin." The response was flat, sending a chill down McCormick' spine. Hardcastle dialed the phone number for Frank's office while McCormick picked up the sandwiches and returned the tray to the kitchen, no longer hungry.

Over the next two weeks, more puzzle pieces came to Gulls Way; with each stamp on the letter cancelled at a different post office. None of them had fingerprints, but all of them appeared to be part of an old children's picture puzzle, featuring the Batman and Robin comic book characters.

There was no way to trace the location of Grishom. Lieutenant Frank Harper and the police department had tried with no success. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth, or it _would_ have, had it not been for the puzzle pieces that continued to arrive almost daily at Gulls Way.

So far, the Judge and Mark had received fourteen pieces. Several contained comments meant to taunt them or arrows directing them to pay attention to other puzzle pieces. They marked the dates that each piece arrived and began piecing the puzzle together, with the backside facing up.

The judge hated the riddles, even though he was good at solving them. He was impressed with McCormick's ability to quickly answer them. Some of them were obscure or referenced TV commercials or even children's books. He had laughed at the riddle that came on the 17th, _'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?'_ It was an easy question, but he had to laugh when Mark imitated the owl from the commercial.

Hardcastle was even more surprised when McCormick had answered the question that came earlier that morning. The puzzle piece simply asked, '_Where won't the Fox eat his green eggs and ham?_ Without a moment's hesitation, Mark had answered 'In a box'. He had tried asking the kid when he became a fan of Dr. Seuss, but in typical McCormick fashion, a smart comment about his reading level was the only answer he received. Milt had noticed the quick flash of fear in the kid's eyes when the piece was placed next to the one containing the question, _'Batman, just how long can Robin survive here?'_ and had an arrow which pointed to the newest clue.

That Sunday evening, McCormick sat at the desk in the den, staring at the puzzle. He was reviewing the three riddles across the top row. The first and third riddles,_ 'The written word is mightier than me. What am I?'_ and _'What goes out in the rain?'_ had been easy to answer. The second one, _'I am running without legs. I'm your friend but your worst enemy. I'm clear, but you can see me. What am I?'_ should have been easy but both he and Hardcastle had been stumped by it. He got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he drank it, he smiled and went to tell the judge he had solved the problem.

On the 23rd, Milt and Frank were sitting in the den, reviewing potential solutions for the remaining unsolved riddle when McCormick came in with the mail. He had in his hand another familiar looking envelope, containing a single puzzle piece. Hardcastle was reading a previous clue from the 12th: _It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, and cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter. What is it?_

McCormick handed the new piece to Hardcastle, and picked up the section that he had been looking over. He looked it over carefully before he quietly said, "It's dark or darkness, Judge."

"You _sure_, Mark?" asked Frank.

"Yeah, it's something that I'm going to fear according to the piece that came on the 9th, and it's going to be in a box based on the one that came Saturday. No clue though as to how long I'll be in there for or when this is all going to happen," replied the young man, sinking into a chair and looking weary.

The judge cleared his throat. "I think we may have at least one of those uncertainties answered. The clue on this piece reads, '_What is it that is always coming, but never arrives?_'"

He placed the piece in its place, just to the right of a piece that contained the phrase, '_Time for the fun to begin_', with an arrow pointing to the right and another arrow pointing down to the riddle, '_What English word is the same when spelled forward or backward or turned upside down?_'

Hardcastle looked up at Harper and McCormick, who were both thinking about the riddle. "Tomorrow. At Noon. That's when the fun begins," he said quietly.

"Okay, now that we know the date and time, we'll get a car over here to watch things," offered Frank. He picked up the phone and began to call.

McCormick looked at the judge and then at the puzzle. "We still don't know where this is going to happen or where the box that I'm supposed to be found in is." He began to pace in the room, then muttered, " I need some fresh air," and left the den.

Hardcastle winced at the sound of the front door closing. He knew the young man was scared, but he had been doing a good job of hiding it, until now. Hell, who could _blame_ him; the thought of being in a dark box for who knows how long was enough to scare _him_, let alone the kid. He went to the window and saw McCormick getting ready to wash the Coyote, a routine task that seemed to be calming for him.

Frank finished making arrangements for a police unit to be posted at Gulls Way and another unit to be assigned to Mark and Milt, if they chose to leave the estate. He took another look at the partially completed puzzle, moved over to the window, and placed his hand on Hardcastle's shoulder. "We'll try everything to prevent him from getting Mark tomorrow. "

"I know," came the quiet reply. "Thanks for all the help over the past couple weeks. Who knows when this will end or how, but thanks just the same."

"I gotta get back to the office, complete the paperwork on the guard units, but Claudia and I will be back with dessert and a game of cards tonight." Harper squeezed the judge's shoulder and left quietly.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with neither of them eating much. At 7 pm, Claudia and Frank returned, with a freshly baked apple-spice cake. They tried to carry on like it was a normal summer evening with friends, relaxing by the pool. It was an effort, but they managed to have a few laughs as Claudia retold stories from Frank's early days on the force with Judge Milton C. Hardcastle.

00000

The next morning, Mark was focused on completing his chores and ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be kidnapped. At mid-morning, the judge and Frank found the young ex-con spreading fertilizer on the roses, a task he absolutely detested.

"Come on, kiddo. Go get cleaned up. We're going out for lunch!" shouted Hardcastle as they walked towards McCormick.

"Out? _Why_?" asked Mark looking up from the rose bush he was working on.

"Because, Frank's buying?" chuckled the retired jurist.

"I _am_?…Oh, well, then, I guess that means I get to pick where we're going." Frank looked at the gruff expression on the judge's face and laughed. "Don't worry, it'll be some place good."

McCormick stood up, stretched, and headed off to the gatehouse for a shower, shaking his head at the police lieutenant and the judge.

An hour and a half later, they were sitting in Harper's car at an A&W Root Beer drive-in. "I thought you said you were picking a _good_ place to eat," grumbled Hardcastle.

"This is a great place, Judge. I can have a root-beer float with my burgers and fries," responded McCormick from the back seat as he watched a young, blond waitress walk towards the car. "And the service is pretty here."

Frank laughed at the young man's comment. They placed their orders while Mark attempted to flirt with the waitress. Several minutes later, the waitress returned with their orders and handed McCormick a slip of paper with a smile and a knowing look.

"What's _that_, sport?" asked Hardcastle, dipping a French fry in the ketchup.

"Her phone number and address. She gets off work at 4pm. We're going to the movies tonight."

"Make sure you take your bodyguard with you…"

"Judge, it's the _movies_…a public place…come on. I don't think the Riddler would try to get me out in the public view." Mark was staring at both the judge and Frank, who in turn had turned in their seats to face him.

Frank chimed in, knowing that Hardcastle wouldn't let it rest. "Mark, it never hurts to take precautions. It'll be an unmarked car and officer. I'll make sure he doesn't sit too close to you and your date." The cop turned back to face the front and smiled, looking back in his rear-view mirror. "Don't worry, you can still make out in the dark theater and my officer won't tell the judge or me about it…well, in _too_ much detail."

Hardcastle laughed as the young man sitting in the back seat began to turn a vibrant shade of red.

Nothing happened all afternoon. Mark lounged by the pool until time to get ready for his date. He dressed in a pair of tan jeans with a white polo shirt and a pair of deck shoes. He looked relaxed, more relaxed than he had all morning. Climbing into the Coyote, he told the judge that he would be back before midnight, but not to wait up for him. He waved to the older man as he pulled out of the driveway, with his bodyguard following.

00000

Hardcastle woke at 1 am, Wednesday morning, with a sinking feeling. He had fallen asleep in his chair watching TV and waiting for McCormick to return. He got up and glanced out the window_. No Coyote. Damn kid. Said he'd be back by midnight. Where is he now?_ McCormick was irresponsible at times, forgettful too, but not when something like this was going on. The judge, pretty sure that the Riddler had made his move and now it was just a matter of waiting for more puzzle pieces called Frank at home.

Frank showed up at 6 am, to find Hardcastle sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and the puzzle pieces. "Milt, a couple of Ventura County officers found the Coyote and the unmarked squad car parked at one of the lookouts off the PCH near Mulholland about two this morning."

"McCormick? Officer Wentell?" asked the judge, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Officer Wentell was found shot, but alive, in the trunk of his car. He's going to live but hasn't been able to tell us what happened, yet."

"God, can this get any _worse_?"

"Milt, I think you know the answer to that question, based on the pieces sitting in front of you. I have instructed one of my men to call me here, as soon as Officer Wentell is able to tell us what happened. Until then, we wait and have something to eat." Frank walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the eggs and milk, prepared to make breakfast for both of them.

Around 9 am, the call Frank was waiting for came. After a brief discussion with his officer at the hospital, Harper had a pretty good idea of what had happened to Mark. He hung up the phone and looked over at his friend who seemed tired and old; much older than he had appeared yesterday when they had been teasing McCormick.

"Milt, it appears that Mark's date went smoothly. He dropped the girl off at her house in Ventu Park, around ten, and went for a drive. He had pulled off to watch the ocean for awhile when a black van pulled up along side the Coyote, blocking its escape. Frankie and two other guys got out of the van. Officer Wentell tried to stop Frankie, but was shot. Mark had tried to run but the guys grabbed him, beat on him a bit, and then threw him into the van, before putting Wentell in the trunk of his car. "

Hardcastle sat back in his chair and sighed. "So, where's the Coyote now? The kid'll kill me if I leave it up there."

"I'm having it trailered back here. No prints on it. They're running the prints from the squad car's trunk right now. Hopefully that will tell us who the hired help was."

At noon, a special delivery came for the judge with a familiar looking envelope. There was no puzzle piece in it; just the answer to the riddle, _'Which kind of locks don't need a key? Just use your head and you will see._' Hardcastle stared at the contents of the envelope and sighed heavily.

"The kid's really gotta hate this guy," he said as he handed the envelope to the lieutenant.

Frank looked inside and saw a lock of McCormick's curly brown hair. He looked down at the puzzle and noticed the arrow pointing to the riddle. "So this is the proof that he has Mark?

"Yeah, the game gets much more serious now."

00000

Mark woke to find himself bound in a reverse fetal position. His feet were bare. His hands were pulled tightly behind his back and connected by a rope to his feet, which were also bound, forcing his back to arch in a painful position. It hurt to breathe and movement was severly limited. He was laying on a hard, stone surface. It was dark out, but he could see the gentle coloring of dawn in the eastern sky.

"Welcome to the Bat Cave, Robin," came the cold voice from behind McCormick. "You let your guard down last night. Batman must not have been a very good teacher."

Mark tried to look over his shoulder, in the direction of the voice. Between the ropes and the pounding in his head, he couldn't turn enough to see the man he assumed was the Riddler. The man stepped over McCormick and came into sight. He was tall, maybe six foot, and thin. He had short dark brown hair and a clean-cut face with a strong chin. He couldn't have been more than 40 years old. Overall he looked like the average person, until you looked at his eyes. They were dark and dangerous. _A_ _madman_, Mark realized.

"_What_? No green body suit and question mark staff? I thought the Judge said you were the Riddler," asked McCormick in a snide tone.

The tall, thin man bent down and slapped Mark hard across the face. "I _am _the Riddler."

McCormick's head bounced against the cave floor from the force of the slap. His vision blurred but he remained conscious. "Well, then I guess you know that Batman and Robin always win. And this time…" He never got a chance to finish his thought before several more blows to the face were inflicted. After the second blow he gave into the darkness.

When he woke again, he was propped against a large wooden crate that was further back in the cave. His hands and feet were still tied, but now his hands were in front of him, his legs bent to the side so that his ankles were alongside his thighs. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it wasn't totally uncomfortable either. His lip was split and he could feel the dried blood. The skin around his left eye was swollen and painful. He slowly opened his eyes, attempting to clear the cobwebs from his mind. He sensed movement near him and remained still, waiting for the Riddler to return.

"Awake. Good. Are you going to be polite this time?"

McCormick looked at the man in front of him; blinked a couple of times and remained quiet. _God, this man is insane!_ Grishom took a step forward, raising his hand as if to strike, and asked again, "Are you going to be polite this time?"

Mark nodded his head and tried to say yes, but his throat was dry and his face swollen. It came out as a mumble but it was enough to persuade the hand not to strike. "Good. I guess Robin can learn, after all. Your lessons should be enjoyable while we wait for Batman to join us."

Mark's eyes followed the man as he walked across the cave to a jug of water. He looked hopefully at the kidnapper, who seemed to take no notice of his captive. A cup was poured and drunk before the Riddler

looked back. He poured another cup and returned to the young man, offering it. McCormick tried to take it but couldn't because his hands were still connected to his feet. Grishom lifted the cup to Mark's lips and tilted it back, forcing him to drink quickly.

"Hope you liked it. That's it for today."

"Please, can I have something to eat? Some fruit, maybe?" asked McCormick softly, trying to assume the role of a meek captive, while figuring some way out of the situation.

"I'll think about it. But first, I need something of yours." Grishom pulled a pair of scissors from his back pocket and pulled a handful of Mark's hair towards him. Using the scissors, he cut a thick clump of curls and placed them in an envelope. "Time to make the next delivery."

McCormick said nothing, just tried to calculate how bad of a haircut he was going to need to clean things up, once Hardcastle and Frank found him. He watched the man open the side of the crate and found himself trying to move away from it. He feared that this was the beginning of learning to fear the dark.

The Riddler grabbed the rope that went between Mark's hands and feet. He pulled, dragging his victim to the opening of the crate. "Box-time. Just like the old solitary confinement cells. Nothing to worry about; no snakes or spiders…_this_ time." He chuckled to himself as he saw the fear in McCormick's eyes. "What, you don't like snakes and spiders?"

Mark yelled and struggled to get away but it was useless with his hands tied to his feet. He was quickly gagged and shoved roughly into the crate. His head was forced into the top left corner at the back of the box, while his feet remained on the bottom right corner in the front. It was tight, but he could still move…a little. The side of the

box was quickly closed, sealing off all real light from the outside. A small hole for air was on top of the crate, but it didn't allow much light to filter in. McCormick heard the sound of a padlock clicking closed. It was dark, hot, and cramped in the crate, but worse than that was the suffocating fear of being left alone to die.

00000

Late Wednesday afternoon, another call came into Gulls Way, informing Frank and Hardcastle that the prints on the squad car were from two known felons, who unfortunately were found dead inside the black van when it was located in a parking lot in Encino. Another dead end.

The judge continued to pace, feeling trapped, but not daring to leave the estate; praying for a phone call or something to tell him where the kid was. Harper was doing everything that he could, but they still were missing key pieces to the puzzle.

The long afternoon faded into an even longer night. Hardcastle barely slept. The stillness of the house and the knowledge that McCormick was trapped someplace dark made the fear and anger stronger. Fear at the thought of losing the young man who had quickly become a close friend. Anger for not being able to stop the attack or put Frankie Grishom in prison for life.

00000

Returning to the cave in the early evening hours, the Riddler opened the side of the crate. He stared at the figure slumped there who quickly shielded his eyes from the light that filtered into the cave. The light wasn't particularly bright, but after spending most of the day in darkness, any additional amount was painful to McCormick.

Grishom reached in and grabbed the rope, pulling Mark's hands away from his face, and dragged the young man out. McCormick kept his eyes closed and slowly allowed them to adjust to the light through the shut lids. After a few minutes, he opened them slowly and completely. He was still tied and gagged; lying on the cave floor. In front of him, but just out of his reach was an orange.

"So, which lesson to start first…hmm…pain in movement or pain in choices?" sneered the Riddler as he bent over to remove the gag. "Let's have the coin decide, shall we? Heads is movement, tails is choices." McCormick remained silent, watching the madman as he pulled a quarter from his pocket. "I'll be sporting and let you choose. Heads or Tails?"

"Heads." Mark didn't want either choice but for once in his life, he wasn't going to smart off. _Boy, if the judge could see me now, he'd be amazed at this show of restraint._

"Well, then. Here's the toss." The coin was tossed into the air and allowed to land on the dusty ground in front of McCormick. It was heads – pain in movement. "Well, I guess you got lucky, this time."

"Yeah, lucky," came the whispered reply. Mark closed his eyes and waited. The rope between his hands and his feet was loosened, allowing his legs to stretch out. The first few moments of full extension were joyous, but it was quickly replaced by agony screaming from muscles that had been cramped for too long and were suddenly allowed to have full circulation. He gritted his teeth as the pain shot down his legs. There was no way he could stand on his feet.

A few more minutes passed and he opened his eyes as the cramping eased. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, and the orange was placed in his hands. He looked at the Riddler and back at his hands. The shaking of Grishom's head told him that the ropes would not be coming off. Using his teeth to open the peel, he was able to remove enough of it to eat the orange in sections. The juice was heavenly on his dry throat but painful on the rope burns that it trickled into as he held the fruit to his mouth.

After eating the orange, McCormick began to shift uncomfortably. He looked up at his captor, "Can I use a bathroom, please?" He was pulled into a standing position after the bindings on his feet were removed, and pushed further back into the cave. _Not exactly private, but then again, showering in prison wasn't either. Just be grateful you dodn't have to urinate in the crate._

"All set now…ready for the _real_ lesson to begin?" came the chilling voice.

"No, but I don't have any choice, do I?" Mark offered but thought to himself, _this guy is totally insane_.

"Oh, you _did_ have a choice. Remember? Heads or tails."

McCormick was pushed roughly towards a darker section of the cave, further from the opening; a small room off the side from the main cavern that the crate was in. He fell against a narrow column of stone; he assumed it was a stalagmite or a stalactite but didn't really care which one. His hands were grabbed and attached to a section of chain that he had not noticed before. Hearing movement near the ceiling, Mark tried not to think about what kind of creature could be living in the cave.

He was forced to the ground, laying face down on the floor. He fought to get back up as his legs were placed in shackles and pulled one at a time, back towards the entrance and in opposite directions. The shackles were attached to a block and tackle system that appeared to be connected to several other stalactites and stalagmites in the cavern. Soon he was laying semi-spreadeagle, face down, with his arms pulled over his head. The more he struggled to move his legs, the more the rope pulled on his arms. McCormick was forced to stop struggling after a couple of minutes or have his arms pulled from their sockets. He could barely move his head between his arms.

"Good. You _do_ learn quickly."

"Yeah, a real smart guy," he muttered into his left arm as he turned his head.

"Now, I mentioned snakes earlier and you didn't seem to like that idea. Well, tonight we'll see just how much you like my snakes." Grishom placed a canvas bag near McCormick and untied the top of the bag. "As it gets cool, they'll begin to look for a warm place to sleep. They like to curl up in sleeping bags, near warm bodies. You can move, but they may bite." A snake began to make its way out of the bag. "Ah, here comes one of them now. Just so you know, there's three of them to keep you company tonight."

"Come on! This is _insane_! I can't stay like this all night!" Mark yelled. He tried not to move too much but he couldn't see where the snake was and that scared him. He hated snakes, always had, and this was not helping. "What kinda snakes _are_ these?"

"Pet snakes. Don't hurt 'em." The Riddler placed the gag back in McCormick's mouth and tied it in place. "Good-night! Sweet Dreams!" He walked back to the front of the cave to watch the evening colors and to catch a breeze of cooler, fresh air.

McCormick tried to lay as still as possible, listening for the snakes or his captor. He soon felt one of the reptiles begin to move alongside his arm, moving up his shoulder. He flinched. Mark could feel it slithering further, until it was on his back. He tried to take slow, deep, calming breaths, trying to control the panic, and avoid pulling the ropes tighter. After a few minutes, he could feel another snake making its way across his left arm. _God, please don't them bite…please don't let them bite_. He closed his eyes as it crossed his face, moving through his hair and down his right side. McCormick shuddered, biting down on the gag. _God, it's going to be a long night_.

As it got darker, the cave cooled, forcing the third snake to seek the warmth of his body. This snake wasn't content to lay on top of him, but demanded skin to skin contact . Sometime during the day, his polo shirt had become untucked, which now presented the perfect opening for the cold reptile. Mark flinched as it nosed its way into the shirt. He could feel its tongue flick across the skin on his left side. He held his breath as the snake moved into his shirt, laying alongside him. He wanted to scream but didn't dare for fear that even that small amount of movement would result in a bite. He lay quietly, praying for help, wondering how his Batman would ever find this Bat Cave.

Around eleven that night, the Riddler returned to the back cavern and, seeing his captive unresponsive, collected his snakes and left the cave. Mark was left in complete darkness with no way to move or call out for help.

00000

Thursday morning, daylight returned, allowing light to filter to the back of the cavern. Mark woke to find the snakes gone and the Riddler staring at him, intently. "Seems you were able to stay still all night. Very good. So, how do you like my pets?"

"We got along," croaked McCormick, "but I still think I prefer normal pets, like cats, dogs, or goldfish."

"We'll see about that. A couple more evenings with them and you'll be good friends." Grishom bent over and unshackled Mark's left leg. There were bruises and raw spots from where the metal had rubbed against his bare skin. "I guess you pulled a bit too hard a couple of times. I see sores. We'll need to repeat this lesson…but later." He undid the other shackle and smiled as he noticed similar bruising and cuts.

McCormick tried to roll over onto his back once both feet were free, but was stopped by a kick to the right side. "Stay still." Mark struggled to catch his breath while his arms were unbound. The hands remained tied together with the rope leash still attached. He was jerked up by the leash but couldn't keep his feet under him. His arms ached and he was light-headed.

The leash continued to serve its purpose when the Riddler dragged him back to the crate. McCormick was handed a cup of water, which he greedily drank. He was so thirsty, so dehydrated, that he didn't care if it was lukewarm and tasted like plastic. He held the empty cup out, asking for more. Another small amount was given. Afterwards, the cup was taken from his hands and put away. His captor returned, handing him a slice of apple and piece of stale french bread. It wasn't much but Mark didn't care; it was something and it gave him hope.

Once breakfast was completed and a bathroom stop made, the Riddler brought the gag out. He quickly completed his task and opened the crate, shoving McCormick back into the hot, dark box. Closing the lid and locking it, the Riddler called out to his captive, "I'll be back later. We'll start on the pain of choices lesson when I return."

00000

Thursday morning's dawn found the judge shooting baskets, missing more than normal. McCormick had been gone for twenty-four hours and no one had any useful clues as to his whereabouts. It was going to be another long day of waiting, hoping for another clue; another piece of the puzzle. Hardcastle was not a patient man normally, and the past twenty-four hours hadn't helped.

Frank arrived shortly after 8 am. The grim look on his face confirmed to the jurist that nothing new had been found. Both men took cups of strong, black coffee to the den and sat in silence, staring at their cups and waiting.

A little after 9 am, another special delivery arrived. It was another familiar envelope. Returning to the den, the judge opened it and took out the puzzle piece. He stared at it for a moment, then handed it to Harper.

It was the missing piece for the top left corner of the puzzle. It simply said, 'Method of Death, it's your choice.' It had an arrow pointing to the right, indicating the three riddles that went across the top row. Hardcastle saw the lieutenant looking at the riddles and offered the solutions that he and Mark had figured out earlier, "A pen is mightier than the sword, the second one is water, and the last one is fire."

"God, I'm _sorry_, Milt." Frank fitted the newest piece into its place on the puzzle. He watched the shoulders of his friend drop a little more as he stared out the window to the Coyote that was now parked in the driveway.

None of them were attractive ways to die and the judge didn't understand how he was supposed to chose. Death by sword could be quick or it could be slow. Death by drowning didn't seem particularly pleasant, but compared to death by fire…he shuddered to think. Leaving the house, he headed for the beach, needing to think. McCormick always came down here to do that, and it seemed like a good place to think about the kid…to remember him.

Lt. Harper watched his good friend walk slowly towards the shoreline. His mind drifted over the last nine months and how much energy his friend had, all because of one smart-mouthed ex-con who Milt felt he had to help. All the energy that the kid brought with him had vanished when he was kidnapped. Hardcastle no longer looked like Batman; he was more like Alfred, the Butler for Bruce Wayne, old, quiet and faithful. Always faithful.

00000

Grishom returned to the cave at mid-afternoon on Thursday. It was hot outside; a typical summer day in the low nineties. It was warm too in the cave and the breeze entering did nothing to cool it. He placed a few items in the back cavern and returned to the crate.

He kicked it a couple of times, waking the sweaty young man inside. Unlocking the padlock, he let the crate fall open, then quickly grabbed the rope leash and pulled his captive out, not giving Mark's eyes a chance to adjust. McCormick was dragged back into the cavern where he had spent the previous night. His head was spinning, and he felt confused and disorientated. The combination of the heat and lack of water was starting to take its toll on the young man.

This time Mark's arms were placed in the shackles and his feet were tied to the single stalagmite in the center. He lay face up, staring at the ceiling of the cave. Only then did he notice the bats hanging above him. He tried to remember if there were any vampire bats in California and decided that there wasn't, which caused him to utter a small sigh of relief.

The relief was short lived. The Riddler stood over him, looking down. "Did you figure out the answers to the riddles on the top row of the puzzle?"

"Yeah, we think so." McCormick swallowed the little bit of moisture that he had in his mouth. "The pen is mightier than the sword was the first one; the second was water; and the third was fire."

"Correct. Now, do you know what they _represent_?" Grishom rubbed his hands together, in anticipation and delectation.

"No."

"Well, the piece of the puzzle that Batman received today, informed him that the method for your death was his choice…sword, water, or fire. Which do you think he'll choose?"

"Oh, _God_…" Mark was stunned. _No..he can't be serious_._The judge can't be responsible for how I die. No!_ Anger washed over him as he thought about the judge and the guilt this would cause.

"So, you still think that Batman and Robin always win?" Silence from the young man stretched across the floor was his answer. "No matter. We'll begin the lesson. Since you were able to answer the riddles, than you know which painful choices we're going to explore this afternoon." McCormick stared at his captor, a mixture of hatred and anger on his face. "You chose last night, so I'll choose today. I think we will start with fire."

The Riddler grabbed a Zippo lighter, stood in front of McCormick and flicked it open, watching the flame for a moment before closing the top. He moved over to Mark's head and replaced the gag. "Can't have you being too noisy now, can we?" He walked over and knelt next to McCormick's left arm. Mark watched his every move, even as the lighter's flame came close to his skin and the metal shackle. He screamed into the gag, straining against the chains, and the lighter was removed. He struggled to catch his breath with the gag in his mouth. Just as his breathing began to slow, the lighter was back; flames dancing under his arm, close to his skin, heating the iron cuff. McCormick screamed once more and sank into darkness.

He woke to water pouring over his face, soaking the gag in his mouth and running into his nose, choking him. He struggled for air. "Good, now we can begin on water," his tormentor chuckled. A wet towel was placed over Mark's face. It was hard to breathe through the cloth and the wet gag. More water was poured, choking him. He strained against the bonds and franctically moved his head from side to side, trying to shake the towel off. But it was no use; it was big, wet, and heavy.

For the next three minutes, water was poured on the towel – once a minute for three seconds. It felt like water was constantly being poured on his face and he was drowning. McCormick struggled just to breathe. Too exhausted to fight any longer, he lay quiet in the mud that formed around his head. Eventually the towel and the gag were removed, allowing him to catch a full breath. He drew in deep, gasping inhalations.

"So, which is worse: fire or water?" enquired the madman.

"Go to hell!"

"Oh, I will…don't worry about that…all in good time, though." He replaced the gag. "Now, shall we see about the sword?" He moved off to the side, picked up a dagger, and returned to McCormick's right side. He knelt before the arm and drew the point of the dagger across the skin's surface. Not enough to cause pain, but just enough that it caused a flinch. Mark's eyes burned with hatred as he watched the madman trace a line around his wrist, using the shackle as a guide. A thin line of red formed a bracelet design. The dagger continued its trail up towards the elbow, where a quick slash with its tip caused a gasp of pain. A deeper cut was made halfway between the wrist and the elbow, and two more soon joined it. Mark felt the bite of the dagger for the second and third cuts, but amazingly enough, he no longer hurt. He was numb to the entire experience and his eyes slowly closed.

00000

Thursday evening the phone at Gulls Way rang and the judge answered it, "Hardcastle."

"_Good evening, Batman." _

"Frankie, where's McCormick?"

"_Robin's at the Batcave. We were just discussing the choice you have to make. I think I know which method he would choose, but the choice is yours. So what'll it be?"_

"This is _crazy_! You expect _me_ to decide how you're going to kill the kid? I can't do it!"

"_Oh, but you __must__; choose quickly lest I change my mind and make the choice for you, and I can guarantee that it will be most unpleasant." _

There was a long moment of silence before the judge reluctantly responded, "Water."

"_Excellent choice. Good-night, Batman__**…**__and pleasant dreams." _

Hardcastle heard the click, followed by a dial tone, and hung up. Fearing that he would never see his young friend again, he went for a walk on the beach. _God, kid. I'm __sorry__. None of the options were good, but I hope this is the least painful, in case I don't get to you in time. Life has been so unfair for you._ Lost in his thoughts, the judge didn't notice how late it was until the stars came out. Looking up, he said, "McCormick, I'm trying… so don't _you _give up."

00000

LateThursday evening, Mark opened his eyes and found himself back in the crate, no longer tied or gagged. His hair was matted with dried mud and he felt grimy. His arms had simple gauze bandages wrapped around them. They ached whenever he moved them or tried to flex his fingers. _This is crazy. First he tortures, then he bandages. Why? How long does he plan on doing this for?_ It was hot in the crate but at least he wasn't being tortured at the moment. The crate was becoming his refuge from the madman that insisted on tormenting Robin.

He tried to listen for any sounds that might give him a clue as to what time it was, but it was still in the cave. He tried pushing his feet against the side of the crate box, hoping to feel it give a little. No luck. A few minutes later, he heard the key in the padlock, and the crate fell open, it was dusk. The Riddler was back and he appeared delighted.

"Well, the choice has been made. Tomorrow, two more pieces of the puzzle will arrive and Hardcastle will understand the exact manner in which you will die."

He handed a cup of water to his captive who tried to hold it with hands that didn't want to cooperate. Mark finally managed to hold the cup with minimal spillage and gulped the water, afraid that it would be taken away from him if he delayed any longer. When he finished, Grishom took the cup and looked at him expectantly. "Thanks for the water," McCormick responded in a whispered voice.

Mark was pulled out of the crate and pushed back towards the area of the cave that had been used as a bathroom. He hadn't asked but was very happy to be given the opportunity. He half walked, half stumbled to the bathroom and back to the cavern that he had nicknamed the 'Torture Chamber'. He didn't want any more lessons. He just wanted Hardcastle or Frank to find him. He'd even take a Boy Scout troop at this point, just as long as someone came for him.

Again he was forced into the same, shackles on the ankles, arms overhead, semi-spreadeagle position as the previous night, but this time he was laying on his back. Things had been adjusted so if he pulled on his arms, his legs were pulled farther apart, causing pain to the hip joints. The gag was replaced and a black strip of fabric was pulled out and tied over his eyes, effectively blinding him. _God, what would __Robin __do in this situation? I bet he'd have his trusty utility belt and Batman would tell him what to use to get out of the situation._

McCormick could hear the sounds of a knife being pulled from its sheath. It was a sound that sent chills down his spine. _Oh, God. The Sword. He's going to slowly kill me with a knife_. Mark could feel the cold tip of the blade on his belly and he sucked in, trying to move his skin away from the blade. He felt the blade move up and pull on the fabric of his shirt; he heard the rip of the fabric as it was split; and felt the cool evening air touch his chest.

He felt the hands of his captor fingering his St. Jude's medal. He flinched slightly at the touch. A moment later, the medal was roughly yanked from his neck. A little piece of hope**…**lost.

He heard the sound of a canvas bag being opened and placed on the ground next to him, then the sound of a cottage cheese container being opened. He felt the smooth skin of the snake against his side, and the fleeting touch of its tongue on his belly. Mark wanted to move but didn't think he could handle any more pressure on his hip joints.

"We have a new visitor for you tonight," came the cold voice of the Riddler. He reached into the cottage cheese container and gently lifted a four-inch tarantula out. He gently placed the furry spider on McCormick's chest. "Ah, she likes you. Do you like spiders, Robin?" Mark tried not to move by holding his breath, but as the spider moved closer to his head, he gasped. "Try not to move too much. If she feels threatened, she could bite." Grishom had a sinister grin on his face. "I'll be back later to check on all of you."

Mark bit down on the gag and tried to think of happier times; racing, friends, and the judge. He thought back over the arguments, the gorilla ball games, the John Wayne movies, and the chores. They were all good. _Hardcastle… the old donkey keeps me straight, provides guidance. He won't let me down. He's coming. I __know__ he is._

He felt the tarantula move and settle into the hollow on his throat. He tried not to swallow but couldn't avoid it. The spider moved back to his chest and remained still, resting on his sternum. Two snakes moved into the remains of his shirt, curling up on his right side near his armpit. The third remained on his belly. _God, I really hate snakes and spiders! Pleaese find me, Judge. I don't want to do this anymore. __Please__, Judge_.

Again, around midnight, Grishom returned and removed the snakes and tarantula from his captive. No bites were visible and the ex-con remained perfectly still. He tighted the ropes slightly, pulling the legs further apart and forcing a small cry of pain to escape McCormick's lips. Smiling, the Riddler left.

00000

Friday morning was grey and overcast, with thunderstorms threatening. It was the perfect reflection of Hardcastle's mood. Over forty-eight hours had passed since McCormick had been abducted. Another piece of the puzzle was in place, but he was no closer to finding his young friend.

Frank and Claudia joined him. Claudia insisted on making breakfast for Milt. He hadn't eaten much and didn't feel like eating, but tried because he knew that Claudia was hurting as well. This was her way of coping. He could see the pain in her eyes and he knew that she loved McCormick too.

The kid was a mystery; a unique puzzle that would never be solved. There were too many pieces that didn't seem to fit. Hardcastle didn't understand it, but somehow, McCormick had managed to become good friends with Claudia Harper and Mattie Groves. Claudia fawned over Mark, making him cookies and cakes, and they both laughed at each other's East Coast accents; they were two of a kind. Whereas, Mattie was flirtatious and carefree with McCormick; the two of them dancing around the den and laughing when Mark would bend down to kiss her hand, like a knight before a fair maiden. She loved his carefree attitude and he respected her intelligence and ability to laugh with him; totally complimenting each other.

00000

Grishom returned to the cave late Friday morning. The cave was dark and damp with the rain. The perfect day for another lesson.

His Robin was still tied in place and appeared to be sleeping. He kicked the prone figure in the ribs on the left side, causing Mark to jerk and pull the ropes tighter. Another cry of pain escaped his lips. The shackles were released but the legs didn't move. Any movement brought additional aches to the hip joint and muscles. The arms were lowered and the gag was removed, but the wrist binding and the blindfold remained. After a minute of watching the figure on the ground, the Riddler picked up the leash and dragged the young man back to the crate.

McCormick pushed himself into a sitting position and the cup of water was placed in his hands, where it was emptied and refilled once more. Next came a piece of stale bread and a piece of apple. Not much…but something, allowing hope to remain. McCormick's mind wandered. _God, I should be able to fight this, but I don't have the strength. Please, Judge… come find me_.

Once the meager meal was completed, Grishom dragged his prisoner back to the dark cavern. Again Mark, found himself forced into the shackles with his arms over his head. The snakes and tarantula returned. This time the Riddler watched, laughing as the spider crawled across McCormick face, its prickly belly hairs rubbing against his cheek as it moved into his hair. Had it not been for the blindfold, the Riddler would have noticed the tears that escaped the young man's eyes.

After a few minutes, he removed two snakes from their position on McCormick's chest. He walked down to the right leg and carefully placed one snake at the opening of the pant leg.

"Please, don't…not _there_," pleaded McCormick, his body quaking with fear. "I don't want…I can't…please, _please_…" He could feel the smooth scales against his calf muscle, the flick of the tongue tickling the hairs on his leg. The snake moved up towards the knee, pressing its nose further up the pantleg, trying to come up higher, but unable to because the jeans were tight across his thighs.

"Oh, you do beg so nicely." Grishom laughed and placed the second snake down.

McCormick soon felt the second snake moving up his left pant leg. This one seemed more intent on finding a spot to sleep. It quickly found that spot under his knee, which would not allow him to relax, unless he wanted to crush the snake and be bitten.

McCormick lay quietly, all his muscles were taut and his nerves were unravelling. The tarantula was somewhere in his hair and he didn't dare move his head. It felt like an eternity that he lay in that position before the Riddler began to remove his little pets. In reality, it was only fifteen minutes, but it was enough to completely fray what remained of McCormick's nerves. As soon as the snakes were removed, he gave in to the exhaustion that was calling his name.

00000

The mail came early on Friday afternoon. Another envelope. This time, two pieces. The first piece read, _'Is this the end of the dynamic duo? Stay tuned. Same bat time, same bat channel._' It belonged on the third row, second space from the right. Another piece, but no real information, just a taunt from the Riddler.

The second piece belonged in the bottom right corner. After reading it, Hardcastle's face went chalky white, all color draining away. Frank quickly moved to help the judge sit down. He took the piece from the older man and read, _'Water, Water everywhere and not a drop to drink.'_ Frank quietly placed the last piece in the puzzle and sat down next to Claudia, who was quiet and numb.

"Water…I had figured on _drowning_…but _this_…! My god, dying of thirst, dehydration. He can't live much more than four or five days without water…less if he's in the desert or the mountains."

"Milt, we'll find him." Frank was calm on the outside, but fear pierced his heart.

"Yeah, but will we be in time?" Hardcastle stood up and left the house, heading for the beach.

00000

Friday evening found McCormick alone. He was laying face down in on the floor of the "Torture Chamber'. His arms were shackled but for the first time his feet were not restrained. _I'm too weak, no longer an escape risk. Hardcase, where __are__ you? Please, I need you._ He wanted to run but knew it was useless and he would be required to wait for the Lone Ranger.

No snakes or spiders, just the sound of bats coming and going from the cave.

00000

Saturday morning was warm and sunny.

Frank and Claudia were already at Gulls Way when the mail came. The lieutenant brought the dreaded envelope into the den and gave it to Hardcastle. He watched his friend slowly, timidly open the envelope, remove a single piece, and place it in its place on the puzzle. It was the piece that fit in the second row, outside right column. It simply read, '_Days unitl Robin dies'_. An arrow pointed down towards the riddle, '_How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?_'.

"Frank, we got three days to find him."

"We're trying, Milt. We have checked every place that Frank Grishom has ever lived in the area. We've even tried to find empty warehouses near known associates. Nothing."

Claudia came into the den, carrying a tray with coffee and sandwiches. It was going to be another long day and she wasn't sure how many more Milt would be able to handle. Oh, he was strong, but she could see the stress was taking its toll on him. He wasn't eating and sleeping and his temper**…** well it was the worst she had ever seen.

00000

On Saturday afternoon Mark was moved from the 'Torture Chamber' to the main cavern, shoved into a sitting position against the crate, and the hands rebound. The gag was removed and the cup was placed in the hands of the weary young man. He gulped the water, not noticing the funny taste. When the cup was empty, he raised it, asking for more. The Riddler snickered and gave him another cup. Again it was gulped quickly.

"The pieces have been delivered and by now Hardcastle is aware of the outcome of his choice. Only a few more nights before he arrives." He saw McCormick's head turn towards his voice when he mentioned the judge's name. "Don't worry, you won't be alive when he gets here." Grishom walked over to McCormick and replaced the gag. Taking a step back, he said, "Now we'll see how your dreams are tonight. I laced the water with a bit of mescaline, just to change things up." McCormick was roughly pushed back into his crate and he heard the click on the padlock. "Sweet dreams, and enjoy the trip."

Not too long after the crate was closed, McCormick began to feel like the ground was shifting under him and he was cold…so cold. He tried to curl on his side in the cramped box. The trip was started and there was no stopping it at this point. McCormick clawed at the inside of the crate, banged his hands against unreal attackers, and screamed into the gag. His hands were bruised and bloody; several fingernails had broken off as he tore at the wood. Talking snakes and spiders crawled on him, biting him, and taunting him with their words.

He tried to get away but there was no place to hide. His crate, his little sanctuary from the 'Torture Chamber' had become a very scary place. Mark's drug-induced trip lasted all of Saturday night and well into Sunday morning. A little over twelve hellish hours were spent in the wooden prison.

00000

Sunday, another overcast and rainy day came and went at Gulls Way. Nothing was delivered and no calls came in. Hardcastle took a drive up the coast, hoping to clear his mind, but that effort failed and resulted in Hardcastle calling Father Atias in the afternoon. He met with the young priest, and asked him to say a few prayers for Mark McCormick. Father Atias was sympathetic, seeing the deeply carved worry lines on Judge Hardcastle's face.

Father Atias assured the judge that Mark was strong and had faith in both Hardcastle and God. Mark would know that Hardcastle was looking for him and trusted him to get him out of the darkness. He reminded the judge that even in the darkness, light could be found in talking with God. The conversation was comforting and the judge found a bit of peace. Later that night, exhaustion claimed the judge and he slept for ten hours, never waking during the thunderstorm that rumbled through at 4 am.

00000

Sunday afternoon, the crate was opened and McCormick was dragged from it. The gag was removed and he was pushed against the side of the crate--forced to sit up. A cup of cool, clean water was pressed to his lips. He drank a couple of sips and felt his stomach revolt. A couple more sips and he was on his side vomiting. He lay for a few minutes before being forced into the sitting position again. Again the cup was placed to his lips and he was forced to drink.

After that, Mark was pushed back into the crate and left alone. No spiders or snakes tormented him, just the darkness and the loneliness. His body ached and he craved sleep but instead he prayed. Prayed for peace of mind for the judge and prayed for a painless death when it did come. _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed… _He tried to remember the prayers his mother had taught him but his brain was tired, and he soon gave into the ever inviting darkness.

00000

Early Monday morning, the crate was opened one last time by the Riddler. The blindfold was removed as well as the gag. The hands remained bound. McCormick shrank into the crate trying to escape the bright light.

"Well, looks like one of my riddles was wrong. I shoulda said you would fear the light instead of the dark," Grishom laughed. "No matter. My time is up. The final piece has been sent. I wish you an enjoyable death." He began to close the crate.

"_Wait_…_please_…_water_…" McCormick whispered.

"Sorry, all gone. I should have told you yesterday, that was your last cup. Hardcastle chose water, or I should say _lack_ of water." McCormick's face dropped. "Don't worry, in about three days, they'll find your body and then Hardcastle will have to purchase that coffin for you. Good-bye, Robin."

The crate was closed and again Mark heard the click of the padlock latching. He leaned his head back against the crate and closed his eyes. He was tired and had a headache. He slept fitfully most of the day, waking briefly when he thought he heard the sound of keys being placed on top of the crate.

00000

Hardcastle looked at the puzzle again. There was only one piece missing. An arrow on a piece dated 7/20 read, '_Where's Robin? In the Bat Cave, of course!_' He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Frank, we need to start searching for caves in the mountains."

"Which caves? Which mountains? It's a big area when you don't have a place to start from."

"Start near the mountains where he was abducted," growled the judge.

"The Santa Monica Mountains Rec Area is a lot of area to cover."

"I _know_, dammit! But someone has got to know if there's any caves in the area."

"_All right, we'll get a couple of people on it. I'm sure one of the hiking clubs in the area would know if there were any caves up there that would be easily accessible. Hey, Claudia's making lasagna tonight. We'll stop by around six with dinner."_

00000

Monday evening's mood was somber. Nothing had come in the mail. Dinner was quiet. Mattie joined them after Frank called her to cancel the monthly Poker game that was scheduled for Thursday. The four friends drew strength from each other. Discussion centered around caves within the area. There were several that crews were checking out that evening and tomorrow morning. Frank planned to keep Milt posted but wanted him to stay at Gulls Way. They didn't know when the last puzzle piece would arrive but they knew it contained the final clue that would lead them to Mark.

00000

The phone rang at Gulls Way at 7am on Tuesday morning. Milt picked up the phone, hoping to hear good news. Frank informed him that four search teams had worked through the evening and had just finished searching the last cave. None of the known caves in the Rec Area were occupied or showed any signs of McCormick having been there.

"How about checking in some of the canyons over by where the van was dumped?" suggested Hardcastle.

"Encino? I didn't think there was much over there."

"Topanga State Park's just south of there."

"All right, I'll send the search teams over there. Give me a couple hours but call me if you get anything in the mail today."

"Yeah, I will." The judge hung up the phone and looked out the kitchen window. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful morning. The kind of day that normally caused the kid to slack off on his chores and work on his tan. _God, I'm sorry, kiddo. You shoud be sitting by the pool enjoying the sunshine. Instead, you're in a dark box…somewhere._

00000

Tuesday passed in darkness for McCormick. He drifted in and out of consciousness. His tongue was swollen and his mouth was dry. He had no tears left and had not gone to the bathroom in almost forty-eight hours. He felt like he was on fire. He was hot but could not sweat. Things were bad and he knew it. Still, he held onto hope, praying that Hardcastle would find him. He didn't want to die, but he feared dying alone, more.

He thought at one point that he had heard a gunshot from the direction of the 'Torture Chamber', but he wasn't thinking straight and couldn't be sure.

00000

The mail was late on Tuesday afternoon, which caused Hardcastle to wait by the mailbox, pacing for over an hour until it arrived. He grabbed the mail and returned to the main house, looking for a familiar envelope. He didn't see one and his heart sank. He briefly flipped through the mail and noticed another envelope with no return address. He felt along its edge. Sure enough, the outline of a puzzle piece was there. He ripped the envelope open, pulling out a short hand-written letter, McCormick's religious medal, and the puzzle piece.

Opening the letter, it read:

"_Batman – _

Have you purchased the coffin yet? You'll need it by the time you find the Bat Cave. Don't worry, Robin is there, waiting for you. It has been a pleasure playing this last game with you. There are no more clues, and the exact location I will take with me. Good luck finding your lost cause.

_Yours truly,_

_The Riddler_."

Judge Hardcastle put the medal in his pocket and looked at the puzzle piece. No words, just numbers--coordinates actually. He called Frank's office and was grateful that he picked up on the first ring.

"Frank, I got coordinates in the mail today!"

"_Great, 'cause the search teams found nothing in Topanga. They're taking a break now but should be ready to go in an hour. Gimme the directions."_

"34 degrees, 12 minutes, and 45 seconds, North"

"_Okay,"_

"118 degrees, 39 minutes, and 51 seconds, West"

"_Got it! We'll get started on this right away. See you in a bit."_

"Yeah, I'm on my way." The judge hung up the phone, allowing himself a small sigh of relief. "We'll getcha, kiddo. Just hang on."

Hardcastle rushed out of the house and into the truck. He stopped for a moment, got out and grabbed his camping first aid kit from the garage shelf. Returning to the truck, he sped down the PCH towards Frank's office. Forty minutes later, the judge burst into the police station and saw several people looking over a topographical map. It was already after 5 pm, and he was anxious to get moving.

"So, what are the coordinates for?" he asked.

"Castle Peak and the surrounding area," replied Frank, pointing to the area on the map.

One of the search team captains looked at Hardcastle and offered, "There are several caves in the area, but one of them is bigger than the rest. I think we should try there first."

"Let's go."

00000

The ride only took twenty minutes with sirens, even in rush hour traffic. The search team led the way, bringing along with them everything required to begin emergency treatment for someone with severe dehydration. Their mentality for the mission was one of rescue, not recovery. For that, Hardcastle was very thankful.

It was a long climb, taking almost an hour to reach the cave. Frank held him back as the first search team entered. A quick sweep of the area in the early twilight showed nothing in the entrance. As the team turned their flashlights on, they noticed a wooden crate with a jug of water sitting on top of it.

The judge pushed past the opening of the cave and went in. He saw the beam of the flashlight resting on the crate and ran to it. He noticed the jug of water and a key sitting on top. Picking up the key, he slipped it into the padlock, opening it easily, then pulled the lock from the latch and opened the crate.

Hardcastle had been a cop and had seen some gruesome accident scenes in his time, but nothing could prepare him for the sight or the smell that assulted him when he looked inside. McCormick was wedged in the corner of the crate, muttering incoherently. The smell of human waste and sweat assaulted the judge's nose. He then noticed the bound hands, the bloody bandages on Mark's arms, and the torn shirt.

"Oh, kiddo, what did he _do_ to you?" cried Hardcastle softly, reaching in to gently touch the young man.

At the sound of the judge's voice, Mark opened his eye, squinting painfully in the beam of the flashlight. "Batman always wins…" he whispered as he closed his eyes and sank further into the crate.

"Yeah, Batman always wins. You got that right."

Hardcastle quickly stepped aside and let the search team remove McCormick from the crate. They assessed his injuries and radioed in for the Medical Helicopter. There was a flat spot that it could land, not too far from the cave. The team captain was fortunately a paramedic and had the training required for the current situation.The judge watched as they attempted to start an IV in the left arm, since it appeared to have the least amount of damage. After several tries, it was determined that McCormick was too dehydrated to use the arm and hand veins. Instead they placed the IV in the external jugular vein, providing life sustaining fluids for the young man and a glimmer of hope for a very worried old man. The sound of a helicopter was heard in the distance.

Frank walked around the cave, staying out of the way of the search team. He noticed the small cavern behind the crate and walked over to it. Inside he saw several sets of block and tackle, a small pool of dried blood, and the body of Frank Grishom. He walked over to it, checked briefly for a pulse, and finding none, returned to where the jurist was standing in the main cavern.

"Grishom's in the back, dead. Appears to be a suicide; single bullet to the head." Frank didn't mention the other items he saw back there. Milt didn't need to know about that at the moment.

A paramedic from the helicopter came into the cave carrying a backboard. The search team captain handed the IV bag to Hardcastle. He held it as they carefully placed McCormick on the board, preparing him for the flight to LA. As the team stood to carry their patient to the helicopter, the judge tried to hand the bag back to the police captain.

The officer shook his head and said, "Go, ride with him. He needs you more than me. There'll be a spot for you."

Hardcastle didn't know what to say. He nodded his thanks and walked slowly alongside the backboard with its precious bundle. Frank watched him leave and prepared to make a few calls on the radio.

**Aftermath **

Friday morning, the sun streamed through the hospital window, brightening the room. Hardcastle stood looking out the window. Father Atias sat next to McCormick's bed, head bowed in silent prayer. After a few moments, he stood and removed a rosary from his jacket pocket. The judge watched as the priest gently placed it in Mark's hands, weaving the wooden beads between his fingers, and placing the worn cross in the palm. Hardcastle came over to the bed, his eyes on McCormick's face.

"Pop asked me to pray the rosary with Mark," Father Atias explained. "In the words of Sister Lucia dos Santos, '_There is no problem, I tell you, no matter how difficult it is, that we cannot resolve by the prayer of the Holy Rosary.'_" He cleared his throat and continued. "Pop, he likes McCormick. He said to tell you, 'McCormick's a good kid. He'll pull through and you take good care of him.'"

Hardcastle nodded his head in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the ex-con's face. He placed a caring hand on the fevered forehead and swept a damp curl from it. Slowly he sat down in a chair and bowed his head. Father Atias continued to stand, holding Mark's hand and guiding it along the beads as each prayer was said.

Milt watched the gentleness and concern that the young Father used when handling the battered hands. The soft voice was calm, loving, and hopeful. He noticed a bruised finger twitch and tighten its grip on the rosary. A few minutes later, as the last prayer of the Sorrowful Mysteries was said, the fingers curled, gripping the beads tighter. Hardcastle stood up and joind Father Atias at the bedside. The prayers and movement along the rosary continued with the fingers curled around the medal of the rosary. The judge placed his hand gently on Mark's forehead.

Father Atias recited the final prayer, the Memorare. "Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly unto Thee, O virgin of virgins, my Mother. To Thee I come, before Thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate! Despise not my petitions, but in Thy mercy, hear and answer us."

"Aaa…men," came the soft and crackled response from the young man lying in bed.

"Mark, can you hear me?" asked Hardcastle gently, almost as if speaking to a newborn babe.

"Um…hmm…" came the sleepy response as McCormick tried to open his eyes. The strong yet gentle hand on his forehead was comforting; the hand wrapped around his, helping him hold the rosary was strong and soft. He drifted back to sleep, a peaceful look on his face; something that had been missing for almost a month.

The judge looked at Father Atias and smiled. "Thank you. That's the first he's spoken since Tuesday evening when we found him. And it feels like the fever has broken."

"Prayer is an amazingly powerful tool," confided the young priest quietly. "I'll just leave this here," he patted the rosary and Mark's hand, "and go let the doctor know that he was awake." Father Atias left quietly.

Hardcastle stroked his hand down the side of Mark's face, sniffed, and quietly said, "Welcome back, kid. I missed ya'." Taking a small medal from his pocket, he placed it carefully around its owner's neck.

00000

McCormick slept peacefully all day, only waking briefly when Claudia and Frank brought lunch for the judge. It was a healing sleep and it brought smiles to the roomful of friends.

That evening, Claudia and Mattie were watching over their favorite curly-haired ex-con, while Frank and the judge had dinner in the cafeteria. They were discussing which recipes they planned on using for meals to stock the freezer at Gulls Way with when Mark slowly opened his eyes. He lay still, enjoying the sound of their voices and the gentle light that filled the room. After a moment, the chattering stopped and two smiling faces appeared over him.

"Hey handsome, how about showing a girl a good time?" asked Mattie in her most flirtatious voice as she ran her hands through his hair.

"Dancing?" McCormick whispered. He smiled slightly and was rewarded with a kiss, placed gently on his cheek.

"Whenever you're ready, my card's all yours," responded Mattie.

"Well, I think I'd better make my request soon, before you totally monopolize him." Claudia said, and Mattie laughed. "So, what'll it be, ice cream or cheesecake?"

"Ice…cream…with chocolate sauce." Again he smiled and was rewarded with a kiss.

"You'd better not be making out with my wife," hollered Frank as he entered the room with Hardcastle, having seen Claudia kiss Mark.

McCormick swallowed, smiled at Hardcastle, and responded, "Nah…she's hittin' on me…offered me cheesecake too."

"Ohh…she _did_, did she?" Frank looked over to Claudia and smiled. Turning back to his young friend he said, "Glad to see you awake. How you feelin'?"

"Better…I think." Mark swallowed again and said, "Thirsty, sore, and tired."

Claudia slipped out to find the doctor and returned shortly with a cup of ice chips. Mattie took the cup of ice and lifted a couple onto the spoon, giving them to McCormick. He had two more spoonfuls before he indicated 'no more'.

The doctor arrived shortly, indicating they all should wait in the hallway for a few moments. Mark reached out to the judge and whispered, "Stay, please…"

The judge looked at the figure in the bed and then at the doctor before responding, "I'm not goin' anywhere, kiddo." He moved to stand next to the head of McCormick's bed, always within sight of the young man.

Dr. Charlie Friedman checked over his patient, asked several questions, and changed the dressings on the wrists. By the end of examination, McCormick's head was resting on his pillow and his eyes were mostly closed. He was so tired but didn't want to go to sleep, yet. He was still fighting the urge when Frank, Claudia, and Mattie returned. The trio took one look at the closed eyes and the jurist standing next to the bed, his index finger touching his lips indicating they should be quiet, and decided the party was over.

Claudia moved over to the bed and placed a gentle hand on the sleeping man's face, cupping it. He opened his eyes slowly. "Good-night. Rest a bit and we'll see you tomorrow," she said warmly. Frank and Claudia waved good-bye and headed to the hallway.

Mattie leaned over the rail and placed a kiss on Mark's forehead. "Don't forget, you owe me a dance. And you missed poker last night." McCormick stared, not realizing he had missed their monthly date. "Don't worry, I'm here tomorrow night, and I'm bringing the cards." She patted his cheek and left, with Hardcastle following her. McCormick closed his eyes and waited for the judge to return from saying good-bye in the hallway.

00000

At some point in the middle of the night, a new night nurse turned the bedside light off, plunging the room into darkness.

"No, no! Get'm off! Get'm off!" Mark was screaming as he tried to brush invisible spiders and snakes from his face and chest.

Hardcastle, awakened by the noise, quickly flicked the light on and reached out for McCormick's hands. He tried to calm the young man, who was obviously lost in a horrible dream. "Shhh, it's okay. There's nothing there…everything's okay."

A nurse came into the room. "What's the trouble?" she asked quickly moving over to the bedside, ready to assist.

"Stay back…give me a minute here," growled the judge. "Shhh, it's okay. Come on, Mark, open your eyes." He bent low, whispering into McCormick's left ear and holding his hands gently but firmly. Mark slowly opened his eyes. They were wild with fear. He moved his head, focusing on Hardcastle's face. "See, kiddo, nothing's here. Everything's okay," the jurist soothingly crooned.

"Dark…cave…spiders…snakes…" whispered the frightened young man.

Hardcastle turned to the nurse, "_Who_ turned off the bedside lamp? Dr. Friedman said to keep it on, at all times."

"I don't know. I'll make sure that it's posted in his chart and have a talk with the rest of the nursing staff." She grabbed the chart, pulled a red pen and note pad from her pocket, scribbled a note and posted it on the outside of the chart. "Do you want me to get something to help you sleep?" she asked McCormick.

"No…no drugs…bad dreams…no more snakes…" McCormick was becoming frantic at the thought of drugs.

"Shhh, it's okay. No drugs…" The judge rubbed Mark's hands, calming the young man. A moment later he looked at the nurse and said, "I'll just talk with him for a bit. I'll let you know if we need something more."

Hardcastle sat with Mark, talking to him about anything other than snakes, spiders, or things that could be considered scary in the dark. He watched as McCormick would glance at the bedside light, wanting to believe it was going to stay on. The fear in his eyes was unnerving.

Eventually, the young man fell back to sleep, leaving the jurist to ponder the activities in the cave. Too much talk of caves and Batman. He decided he wouldn't refer to McCormick as Robin unless the kid mentioned it again. He had been _Tonto_ first, and Tonto he would remain. Tonto and the Lone Ranger. Not Batman and Robin.

00000

The next morning, Father Atias stopped in while visiting another patient. Hardcastle, sensing that the kid wanted to talk privately with the priest, excused himself and went down to the cafeteria for some coffee.

A half-hour later, Hardcastle stood in the doorway of the hospital room, listening to Father Atias' prayer. "Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight, and give your angels and saints charge over those who sleep. Tend your sick ones, O Lord Christ, rest your weary ones, bless your dying ones, soothe your suffering ones, pity your afflicted ones, shield your joyous ones. And all for your love's sake."

"Amen." Mark was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, Father. I do feel better. By the way, your rosary is in the drawer of the nightstand."

"Keep it, Mark. It may be useful over the next several weeks. Rest now and remember what we talked about. Things will get better. Continue to have faith." Father Atias stood to leave, watching as Mark closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

"Father, thank you again. I don't know what you said to Mark but he looks better than he did earlier." Hardcastle shook the priest's hand.

"You're welcome, Judge. Mark's confused and scared, but he's strong. His mother gave him a good foundation for his beliefs and he's falling back on it now. It'll be rough over the next month. He has my number and I told him to call anytime he needs to talk."

"Thank you again. I take it you two have talked before."

"Yes, we have had several long conversations. Did you know that he attends Mass when he's not playing Tonto? Ahh," Father Atias smiled warmly, "I see from your expression you didn't know. Yes, he's somewhat regular on Saturday nights, provided he doesn't have a date. He's also great with the children at the orphanage. He plays a mean game of kickball with the kids." The priest laughed. "He's an amazing young man, who'll surprise you. Well, I need to get back and meet with the Altar ladies to prepare for tonight's Mass. Have a good day."

00000

The support team came in shifts. Frank and Claudia came after lunch, giving the judge a chance to return to the estate--the first time since Tuesday evening when he had left for Castle Peak. They watched Mark sleep, talked to him about places he wanted to visit; anything and everything positive.

Claudia had made a list of dishes that she planned on stocking the refrigerator with, and the menu was approved by Mark with a few minor additions. They stayed with him through the bland dinner that was provided by the hospital. A simple diet was all that he was allowed at the moment, but Claudia promised that she would be bringing ice cream, as soon as it was allowed.

Mattie was the second shift. She brought a pillow and planned on staying the night. She joked with the young man about having a scandalous life; who had ever heard of a judge sleeping with an ex-con, in a public place? They played cards for a bit, but McCormick tired easily and before 8 pm was sound asleep.

Mattie watched the face of the young man; exhausted and creased, it was the face of someone who was older than twenty-nine. She had wondered how Mark could have remained so youthful in appearance and attitude, but the next minute, appear like one of the hardened criminals that stood before her bench. He was a treasure, and she was delighted that Milt had been able to keep him out of prison because it would have destroyed him. Now, she prayed that this last adventure wouldn't destroy him.

00000

Back at the estate, the judge sat as his desk, going through the pile of mail. As he cleared the mess, he noticed the completed puzzle. He looked at all the pieces, the riddles, and remembered the fear when McCormick was missing and the fear that seized his heart when they found him. The fear had not diminished at the hospital until he heard the first softly spoken 'Amen'. Mark was strong and things would get better. He had Father Atias' spiritual strength and support to lean on, as well as the affection and love of his friends to show him how much he was needed and wanted. He'd be coming home next week. There'd be plenty of time to rest and to talk, if he wanted to. The judge would listen.

Hardcastle walked over to the gatehouse and collected a few items for McCormick. He knew that Mark would probably be in the hospital for at least three more days, but he wanted to make sure the kid had clothes in anticipation of an early discharge. As he gathered some magazines, his mind wondered back to his earlier conversation with the priest. _Father Atias was right; Mark is an amazing young man. He's gentle, smart-mouthed, funny, loyal, trust-worthy, and one __hell __of a Tonto. I couldn't ask for a better friend. How could I not have noticed the quiet faith that guides McCormick? _The judge gathered a few pieces of clothing from the dresser and placed them in the overnight bag on the bed. _How many conversations has he had with Father Atias? Amazing, the son of the biggest mobster is the priest that McCormick has chosen to confide in._

He returned to the main house with the packed overnight bag, then went upstairs and readied the guest room closest to his bedroom. If last night was any indication, there were going to be more nightmares, and it would be good to be close.

The jurist returned to the den via a stopover in the kitchen for a well deserved beer. Sitting at his desk, he took a look at Frank Grishom's file. The man had been bad news back in the late 60's but there was nothing in the file that hinted at the level of insanity that had been displayed over the past month. It was frightening, but at the same time good to know that he hadn't missed something before that could have prevented all of it.

He took a last look at the puzzle before taking it apart and placing it in a brown paper sack. He and McCormick would burn the thing, when Mark was ready to face the pieces. It would take time, but Tonto was strong and the Lone Ranger would be right alongside him. Tonto would never be alone and never in the dark again.

00000

The judge returned to the hospital at eleven that night. He had napped during the afternoon and found he wasn't tired enough to sleep in the quiet house. He planned to spend the night in Mark's room, keeping watch over his faithful friend. Walking into the room, he found Mattie reviewing a court document. He kissed her on the cheek and told her to head home. He'd take over. The Lone Ranger was back on duty.

00000

Saturday night gave way peacefully to a warm Sunday morning. McCormick woke feeling better than he had on Friday and Saturday. He was alert, grumbling about the hospital food and the vampire lab technician, who came for another blood draw. The nurses encouraged him to get up and walk, stating that the exercise would strengthen his legs and body; Hardcastle seconding the proposal with comments about the estate lawn needing someone to mow it.

At a little after noon, Dr. Friedman came into the room. "Good afternoon, Mark," the internist said. "The last round of tests came back good. All your electrolytes appear to be within normal levels. Let's take a look at those wounds." Dr. Friedman began to unwrap the gauze wraps and checked over the burn on the left arm and the cuts on the right one. After a few minutes, a clean bandage was placed on the right arm and Silvadene applied to the burn. "We'll leave the burn open to the air today. It's healing nicely. The cuts are coming along as well, but give 'em a couple more days to heal before getting into the pool." He smiled at Mark. "I'm discharging you tomorrow, and I expect you to take it easy for a couple of days."

"Thanks. _I _plan on taking it easy, but you need to tell _Hardcase_ that." McCormick smiled at the judge.

"I _heard_ him, kid," growled the judge. "No lawn mowing tomorrow**… **just cleaning the pool."

Dr. Friedman smiled at the two grown men before him; they seemed more like big kids at times. He had talked with Hardcastle on Saturday and heard about Father Atias's visits, and he knew that the young man was recovering much faster because of the priest's sharing of faith as well as Hardcastle's blustery but sincere affection.

That evening, Claudia and Frank delivered ice cream as a celebratory treat, with chocolate sauce…_and_ cherries.

00000

Monday morning, the sun shone brightly. Mark was coming home and all the necessary arrangements had been made. The ride home was completed in comfortable silence. Mark still was tired and they had been up late the night before talking. Mark had finally asked about Grishom and the judge had been honest with him. McCormick had been quiet and a little reluctant to talk after hearing that the Riddler had committed suicide in the cave. He only muttered, "Insane, totally insane," before falling asleep.

After a simple lunch on the patio, McCormick walked over to the rock wall and looked out over the ocean. A few minutes later, Hardcastle followed, placing a hand on Mark's left shoulder. Neither one spoke for a couple of minutes. Finally, the judge said, "I'll be here if you need to talk."

"Thanks." Mark continued to stare out over the ocean. Eventually he asked, "What's the feature movie for tonight?"

"'_El Dorado'_. Got time for a nap before dinner. Mattie's bringing over a casserole or something. Doesn't trust me to feed you properly…then again, neither does Claudia.

McCormick turned and quietly said, "_I _trust you…with my life." They walked back to the house together, Hardcastle smiling inwardly with contentment.

00000

Dinner was pleasant. Mattie had made grilled steak and chicken kabobs with summer vegetables. She even brought a lemon meringue pie for dessert. As she cleared the table, she ran her hand over McCormick's hair, playing with the curls.

"How bad is it?" McCormick asked suddenly.

"Whattaya mean?" asked Mattie.

"How big a chunk is missing? How much did he cut off? Can I get by with just a trim?"

"You _always_ need a haircut for that mop, McCormick," groused the judge, returning from the kitchen

"Oh, its hardly noticeable. I'm sure a little trim should be all it needs."

"Thanks, Mattie." The young man smiled at her. "Dinner was great, and I appreciate your help this past week. I'm sure Hardcastle has been a real bear to be around."

"Oh, no worse than normal. Besides, I needed to make sure my dance partner was all right." Mattie turned to the judge, "So, Friday night, poker?"

"Yeah, poker sounds good. If it's okay with you, McCormick?"

"Yeah, with the whole group."

"Okay, then I'll let you two enjoy your movie while I go home and finish reading through the case for tomorrow. I'll see you Friday." Mattie kissed Mark goodbye and the judge walked her to her car.

McCormick went to the den and sat in his favorite chair. A few minutes later, the judge came in carrying a tray filled with popcorn, chips, and a couple of cold beers. He set the tray down and turned on the TV; the opening credits were just ending.

About twenty minutes into the movie, McCormick put his beer down and quietly looked at the judge. "What's on your mind, kiddo?" asked the judge, sensing he was being watched.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for _what_?" asked a flabbergasted Hardcastle. "You've done nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry you were asked to choose. It's not something a friend should ever be asked to do for another." McCormick sat quietly staring at the judge's face.

"No, it's not and none of the choices were good." The judge sighed. "I'm sorry you had to go through whatever it was that happened in that cave. I feel that there should have been someway to prevent it…"

"_Don't _, Judge. That man was crazy**--**certifiably insane. There's no way that you could have known he would do something like this." McCormick took a deep breath. "I mean, yeah, he kinda gave us some clues, but there wasn't enough on any of them to prevent it."

"Are you okay with this…with being Tonto? 'Cause if not, it's okay, I understand."

"Judge, trust me, I'm going to be okay. It'll take time but hey, I'm still Tonto. Can't let Kemosabe ride off without his faithful Indian companion." Mark watched Hardcastle's face; disbelief clearly written on it. "I believe in the work we do. It's important. I'm not about to quit because of one psycho."

"You're _sure_?"

"Positive." McCormick grabbed the bowl of popcorn. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why water?"

"Because, I thought drowning would be the quickest and the least painful."

"No, it wouldn't have been…not with how _he_ would have done it. But thanks. Water was still the best choice." He ate a handful of popcorn.

"Okay, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Just when do you find time to play kickball?" Hardcastle watched McCormick's face flush.

"When my chores are all done and Batman doesn't need Robin." Mark laughed at the astonished look on the judge's face when he said 'Batman'.

"Batman _always_ needs Robin. But I think he'll make sure to give you time off for that."

They both laughed and sat back; comfortable with where things stood. It would take some time, but life would return to normal for the dynamic duo.

_**Answers to the Riddles**_

_The man who made it doesn't want it. The man who bought it doesn't need it. The man who needs it doesn't care. What is it? A coffin_

_How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Three_

_Where won't the Fox eat his green eggs and ham? In a box_

_The written word is mightier than me. What am I? A sword_

_What goes out in the rain? Fire_

_I am running without legs. I'm your friend but your worst enemy. I'm clear, but you can see me. What am I? Water_

_It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, and cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter. What is it? Dark or Darkness_

_What is it that is always coming, but never arrives? Tomorrow_

What is it that is always coming, but never arrives? Noon 

'_Which kind of locks don't need a key? Just use your head and you will see. Locks of Hair_


End file.
